The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Thursday, Wings of Fancy, Game of Thrones

Song to Celia
By Ben Jonson

Drinke to me, onely, with thine eyes,
    And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kisse but in the cup,
    And Ile not looke for wine.
The thirst, that from the soule doth rise,
    Doth aske a drinke divine:
But might I of Jove's Nectar sup,
    I would not change for thine.
I sent thee, late, a rosie wreath,
    Not so much honoring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there
    It could not withered bee.
But thou thereon did'st onely breath,
    And sent'st it back to mee:
Since when it growes, and smells, I sweare,
    Not of it selfe, but thee.


Adam took his last final exam of the year, in chemistry, on Wednesday morning, so both my kids are officially out of school for the summer. I had an early morning eye doctor appointment and was legally blind from the refraction for two hours afterward -- not that Daniel had hauled himself out of bed by the time I got home, anyway -- so once I could see again and he'd had something to eat and Adam had returned from school, we went to Sports Authority to get them both new sneakers, then to Target to get new socks and underwear. (Need I tell you how excited they were by this outing?) When we got home, I folded laundry and I was going to re-record Then She Found Me now that it's On Demand, since I'm missing the first ten minutes from when I got it off Lifetime, but Comcast was so screwy that I couldn't even see Colin Firth's face during his first scene with Helen Hunt, so I said the hell with that and went out for a walk to see the bunnies.

In the evening we watched the last episode of Game of Thrones that I shall ever need to see -- those of you who have watched the show or read the books surely know why. (Note: I hated the scene with the horse as much as the final scene of the episode.) I am so glad that, when out of curiosity I thought about buying and reading the books to see if they were less sexist than the TV show, I got so irritated that the Kindle versions cost three times as much as the paperbacks that I said forget it. I am going back to enjoying William Shawcross's massive worshipful biography of the Queen Mother, which is a book for which the Kindle was invented -- costs much less and, more importantly, weighs much less in eletronic form. Here are some more Brookside Gardens butterflies from the Wings of Fancy exhibit last weekend (the last one is on Paul's shirt):


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